The Rearview Mirror
by Andrew Fisher15
Summary: A five part story, Spider-Man and Black Cat. A depressed Peter needs an education on what life is about, and a wise Cat is the one to help.
1. Denial

"_In the end I'm realizing,_

_I was never meant to fight on my own!_"

—On my Own

* * *

><p>It was two in the morning, but most of the buildings still had lights on. Peter sat down near the edge of the residential tower he had landed on, looked at the few cars still driving along, at the other buildings. The glow of artificial lighting made it feel unnatural, unreal… the night was indeed a different world than daylight. He glanced at a still partially lit-office building, open windows and bright lights making the inside visible for blocks. Movement caught his eye in one, and he watched as a laughing man and woman started making out happily on top of a desk. He looked for a moment longer, but then forced himself to turn away when buttons started getting undone.<p>

"Too pg-13?" A soft, mocking voice asked. Peter turned, not surprised at the silver-haired woman walking—he'd say swaggering—up to him. Her green eyes shone from behind her mask, and he saw her gaze go from him back to the couple. A grin tugged at her lips.

"I'm trying to cut down on the pervin'." Peter shrugged, trying to sound casual, and trying to keep his eyes from wandering down the plunging neck of her dark costume, showing off a remarkably fit and toned body.

"Or you just don't like that **someone** is having a good night?" Cat teased, her eyes glittering as she looked past him to the far off pair. "Instead of watching life pass them by in the rearview mirror?"

"I make a difference." Peter said stoically. "I help people."

"And leave yourself to rot. Misery, depression, and poverty. Your three best friends," she purred, sitting down next to him, glancing at the couple in the building briefly. "You could be powerful. Make a real difference. But instead you'd rather grab purse snatchers."

"I'll have made a difference to the girl who got mugged." Peter remarked.

"And you know why that girl can't take of herself?" Black Cat said in a low voice. "Because if she had a handgun tucked into a holster here-" she ran a hand down and pressed her hand in the small of his back—"the police will throw her in prison for a decade or two or three. So the police **you** protect help make sure that those women are nearly helpless to anyone with more muscle mass. How's that irony for you?" He froze for a moment. He hadn't considered it before, and it took him a moment to find a comeback.

"What, should I go fight the cops? The law is the law." Peter said. "Same reason why I'm not going to spend much time with a cat burglar."

"Is my hobby really so bad?" She shrugged innocently, looking out over the city. "You read much Shakespeare?"

"No." Parker said, unsure of where that was going.

"_Henry IV_." Cat said patiently. "Hotspur dueled Hal, and died in an epic battle. You know why he died?"

"Didn't dodge a sword fast enough?" Parker asked.

"Because he represented courageous virtue, honor, in a society that had abandoned it." She said off handedly. "he was in a society that was corrupt from the top down. The rulers were criminals. So why would anyone else be better than their rulers? They didn't, because everyone who stole or lied could say, 'Well, the King is a liar and a murderer, so why should I feel bad?' "

"It doesn't work that way." He protested. "What's right is right, whether or not some politician is doing so."

"Oh, really?" She asked wryly. "Is that why the police would throw anyone who tried to take care of themselves in prison? Because it's wrong to not need someone to swing down and save her helpless self? Tell me Spider, who has more prison years waiting , me or you?"

"What, you think all the women in this city need handguns, and crime will get solved?" Parker rolled his eyes, getting up and taking a few steps away from her, putting some distance between them.

"Because you graduated from police academy, so you're _qualified_ to fight crime, unlike normal citizens?" She purred mockingly. "So in the end, you're helping to keep a system propped up that makes for targets. You make people feel safe, so don't feel a need to actually protect themselves—and they don't realize they'd go to prison with the rapists and murderers if they did. Thank you Spider-boy."

"I refuse to believe that." He said stoically. He heard a laugh, turned.

She was gone.

* * *

><p>Part one of out five chapters planned, and yes, next chapters will be longer. Leave a review if you liked it!<p> 


	2. Anger

Chapter 2, a little later than would be good. But hey, it's longer, at least. While I'm here, what do you guys think of Felicia Hardy being a bit more of a thinker, such as how she cited Shakespeare to Peter?

Anyway, so as you no doubt deduced, this is a 5 part ficlet about Peter Parker basically waking up to the harsher realities of life, and in a way, taking control of his life, instead of being perpetually miserable and poor, haha. Read and review!

* * *

><p>"<em>Bring me out<em>

_Come and find me in the dark now_

_Everyday by myself I'm breaking down_

_I don't wanna fight alone anymore!"_

"How can you say that?!" Peter exclaimed. "Look at these pictures! Look at the video going around on youtube! He took a bullet saving four people and you're calling him a menace?!"

"I can say it because it's my damn newspaper!" Jameson bellowed. "Now get out of my office before I fire you!"

"I'm not your employee!" Parker yelled back.

"I'll still fire you! Take the money or your damn pictures and get out!" J.J yelled. Peter hesitated, but need won out. He took the piece of paper and stormed out, slamming the door behind him and wincing. The wound still hurt in his shoulder, badly. It had just been a 9mm—but it had been a hollowpoint. He had had to dig the thing out, which had resembled a jagged metal flower more than a simple slug. He was healing much faster than a normal person, but it was still a pretty bad injury. Peter didn't have the money for real medicine, but he had bought some rubbing alcohol to disinfect it, painkillers, and sugar for the wound, which was apparently popular during the Napoleonic Era. Osmotic pressure, or something. He collected his money is silence, then went to the bathroom, gingerly moved the shirt. The bandage was now dark red, but the wound seemed clotted.

He took the slow elevator out of the building, the measley $75 in his pocket giving a little comfort as he hit the pavement again, and headed towards a corner gas station that had donuts and coffee. Across the street at some event, he noticed several NYPD cops with M4 assault rifles, and the anger burned a little higher. He had gotten more than a couple of those pointed at him while dressed up. Somehow, he had stomached it at the time. Maybe fear had outweighed the fury over being treated like a bank robber… he had seen plenty of other people get weapons pointed at them, too, for no good reason. Hell, he had been reading about worse everywhere. Some sap on New Mexico had gotten "detained" by police after rolling a stopsign, taken to a hospital to be anally probed for several hours because the police claimed he had drugs, and then billed for the procedures. True story.  
>He wondered if other people just put up with it, like a person cowering to a snarling dog, or if they were just too helpless to do anything about it. Black Cat had inspired him to do research, and the results had just turned his stomach. She was right, at least in New England. And it was wrong.<p>

And to top it off, he had just sold pictures of himself to a newspaper that hated him and would try to encourage more people to despise him, because he had no way of affording another meal without it.

Peter sighed, smacked his palm against his forehead.

* * *

><p>The problem was New York, he decided from the little booth in the diner. Or himself. Or both. He awkwardly forked another couple of french fries into his mouth, clicking through job ads on his laptop. Or maybe the problem was he was spending all his free time as Spider-Man and making almost no money at it. Normal people worked paying jobs, a lot. Some of them as much as 40 hours a week… no wonder they had the money to not live in dumps. He looked up crime statistics… one NYPD website proclaimed just over 400 people had been murdered in New York City in 2012, the lowest in 50 years or whatever, and they attributed most of the decrease as being less gang violence. He let out a frustrated breath, took a huge gulp of the overly-expensive-but-impressive-milkshake. <em>And how long am I responsible to try to protect people? Spend the rest of my life broke, dealing with Jonah?<em> He clicked through a few crime stories, leaving the job tabs alone for a moment. "_She cried rape—and no one helped._" Some _Today_ article from 2009… a woman named Maria was attacked and raped multiple times on a subway station, with multiple witnesses, who did nothing to help. Police didn't arrive for quite a while, according to the article, long enough that the rapist had gone for round 2.

He shut the laptop and focused on his food, fury rising up in his chest, again. Why couldn't people just watch out for each other? Were they just cowards? Or was it what Black Cat mentioned—and people were too afraid of getting killed, since they couldn't have weapons? _People make careers trying to answer these questions, _Peter groaned.

* * *

><p>"Aww, Spidey looking all lonely tonight?" A familiar voice purred behind him. She didn't surprise him this time.<p>

"More broke than lonely." Peter quipped. He could almost hear the woman's smirk. "Even my peanut butter supply is getting low."

"Well, a man with your talents can make money easily enough." She said, running a hand lightly across his back. She was as gorgeous as last time, a beautiful face only made more attractive by how happily satisfied she always seemed, the cat that got the canary.

"Let me guess, you've got a heist planned?" He asked sarcastically.

"We don't need a _heist_ to get _you _some spending cash." Cat said, grinning. "We could just rob criminals. You know the drug money seized just ends up in slush funds for the city, right?"

"What, knock over a crime lord?" Spidey asked, rolling his eyes. "How classy."

"Indeed it is." Cat said smugly. "Just ask the US Marshals, or the NYPD, or the FBI, they love seizing crime money, or any money they can claim might have come from drugs. You put in enough hours serving the public, it's only fair you should be paid... so you can continue your noble work. Don't you think all those girls who got their purses back would agree?" She obviously wasn't too concerned with him serving the public. She wanted him to go with her, do something she would love to do, something that not to long ago, he would have never considered.

But having good food, buying some clothing that he didn't have to find at goodwill, and not having to suck up to Jonah would be a high point of his year... but it would be low, stealing from criminals. Besides, even if law enforcement did it, how did that make it right...? He would find some way to make some cash, maybe take some more pictures, or get a better part time job… _between college debt and paying out the nose for a rat hole of an apartment?_ Parker mulled. _Screw it. The police do it to buy whatever, I'd just be doing it to get by, and keep saving lives._

"Got any places in particular in mind?" He asked. Cat grinned widely.

"The pattern is easy to recognize," She said helpfully, like an instructor. They were both perched on top of a dark building in a not-so-good part of town. "Some groups have a runner and a bag man, some groups just have sellers, you just have to time it before his boss picks up the cash. They do that to keep the guy from becoming too much of a target, but he'll still be loaded compared to you." Her eyes glittered as she watched a car stop, a hand came out of the window, and a hurried exchange was done. Drugs for cash. "Not only do you stop drug dealing, but there's no need to return any money. You go after the sellers, not the buyers."

"Wow, so dignified." Peter groaned. Cat shrugged.

"What do you do for money, then?" She asked wryly. "You spend a lot of time trying to save lives, I doubt you can have a real job. You wait tables? Work security two days a week? Deliver pizza?" He winced as she said the last guess. It was a blow to his self-confidence, going from a crime fighter to lowly pizza delivery boy.

"Point taken." He said. "So how'd you get into this? Hated working retail?"

"About as meaningful as being in an ant farm." She commented. "My dad taught me these things. When you know how crime works, it's easy to profit off it. Then you can actually have a life."

"I have a life!" Peter retorted, watching as another car bought, then left. He assumed Cat would tell him when to go for it.

"Ever noticed what type of movies are most popular in the United States?" Cat asked mildly.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He said, baffled. Cat stretched out beside him, pushing her hands up and rolling her shoulders, while pushing her chest out. Peter was glad his mask hid his eyes. She evidently had a lot of free time, because her body spoke of series hours in the gym.

"Tocqueville wrote hundreds of years ago, that because there was no aristocracy in the United States, _everyone_ spent their lives working, day in, day out. So the fiction they would want would be wild, completely different from their lives." She said. "And today, sci-fi is one of the biggest sellers in movies and books. And vampires, but that just shows how pathetic women are getting."

"Okay, but what's wrong with grand sci-fi?" Peter asked. "Some of those movies are pretty good."

"In the _Odyssey_, when Odysseus washed up on the island of the Phaeacians, he found a society a lot like ours." Black Cat continued smoothly, despite completely jumping eras and stories. "A society where everyone played it safe. The men loved sports, and light boxing and such, but were really just wimps, despite wanting to pretend themselves warriors."

"Like how everyone here loves football or baseball or whatever?" Peter asked. The girl nodded, shifting in her costume, running a hand down her gear belt, where she had weapons and equipment.

"The men acted brash around Odysseus, not knowing who he was. But when he started showing what he was made of, they backed down quickly. After a party, there was a bard, singing poet, telling stories. Since they didn't have dj's or movies back then." Her bright green eyes went from the drug dealer to him, becoming even more keen and alive. "The bard sang about the Trojan War, which was a complete opposite to the safe matriarchy on their island. But Odysseus, who had lost many friends in that war, wept, remembering the battles, remembering fighting."

"Okay…"

"The lesson is, entertainment should be about things you can actually relate to, in your life." She said. "Don't be a wimp watching war movies. Maybe you're a boxer. Go watch _Rocky_ and stuff. Maybe you're in security. Watch a crime movie."

"Huh." Peter mulled. He was surprised, and a bit intrigued. When she wasn't pulling off heists or making comments at him, she was quite the philosopher. His anger at life, at Jonah, at everyone, had been ebbing away since he had found her again. "Interesting. So make your entertainment something like your life—not fantasy."

"That, and change your life so that you actually have one worth hearing about." She smirked. Another buyer drove off, and she clapped. "Okay, time to have some fun. Just promise me you'll buy some nice underwear with the money."

* * *

><p>It was almost too easy. At least, according to her. It just seemed like dirty play to him. Peter webbed the guy's hands to the wall, then checked his bag. Lots of little baggies with powder or pills in them.<p>

"Sleeves." Black Cat said. Parker checked the guy's rolled up sleeves, and found a billfold hidden in each arm. Maybe a thousand dollars. Not life-changing, but Parker could definitely afford to go out for dinner now. And buy some new shoes, the cushioning on the back of his were patched with duct tape…

"Well, thanks for sticking around." Peter said, taking the man's drug stash. He'd drop that off with a cop.

His spider-sense tingled, and he looked up as a car screamed towards them.

"Go go go!" Felicia laughed, running down the alley, vaulting up a fire escape, as a huge man with a gun jumped out of the car, the webbed-up man's boss, or coworker. Parker ran after her, gave a huge jump, grabbed her in one arm, and managed to fire off a web line with the other, swinging them away. Some rare people were good enough with handguns to hit targets hundreds of yards away—but pretty much no one was skilled enough to hit a person in the dark making a swinging getaway 50 yards off.

And then it was 100 yards, then 200, then they were on top of a building, the city was bright and cheerful again, and the beautiful girl on the cat-suit was laughing happily, and life was a lot better than it had been that morning.

"See how easy things can be when you're smart?" She teased, her voice breathy and intimate, her eyes shining.

"What, no pithy philosophy for me now?" He joked back, smiling hugely under his mask.

" 'A feast is made for laughter, and wine makes life merry, but money is the answer for everything.' " She said, more than a little cocky. "And that's your lesson for today."

"_Bring me out,_

_From the prison of my own pride,_

_My God, I need a hope I can't deny!_

_In the end I'm realizing _

_I was never meant to fight on my own!"_

—On My Own, by Ashes Remain


	3. Bargaining

"_When we started, wholehearted, _

_I never needed anything or anyone else! _

_I was broken, you made me whole again!"_

—What I believe

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long time, Peter had paid his rent two months in advance, bought some decent clothing (including some pricey underwear, as Black Cat had insisted) and had been able to quit the pizza delivery job. On the opposite side of that, four more drug dealers had gone home without cash or drugs, and four cops were probably getting good performance reviews for turning in said backpacks with drug stashes.<p>

But Thursday was still turning out God-awful. Aside from having made class on time and actually turned in his paper.

He had tried talking to two NYPD cops with high ranking shoulder bands (at least, they looked like they meant some high rank) and showed them the crime statistics, broken down with home many murders/rapes/burglaries/robberies occurred each day in the rotten apple, and had even done the crimes per cop math. If it had been a college paper, he would've aced it.

Apparently, swinging up to someone in red and blue spandex nullified and A+ grades. They had quickly gotten irritated and told him to get lost.

The state senator he had amazingly tracked down was amazingly patronizing, on the other hand, and praised him for his "civic activism" but didn't care. Apparently, state laws had pretty much banned handguns, and that was it. The man didn't care for the logic that police couldn't get to crimes in progress fast enough to be a real deterrent, and he hadn't cared when Peter tried to bargain with him, using Spider-Man's service to the city.

_No wonder half the people here love the Punisher, _Parker mused, staring out over the city as night fell. The air slowly was becoming cooler, cleaner, and the city went from a collection of towers and traffic to a sparkling collection of lights and breathtaking views.

"So how's it feel to finally have some money in your pocket?" A familiar voice purred behind him. He wasn't surprised—he had deliberately picked the same tower they had spoken at before.

"Feels pretty nice." He said easily.

"Of course it does." The woman said cheerfully, lighthearted, heartbreakingly beautiful. "Money solves most problems."

"You sound like someone out shopping at 6pm on Thanksgiving." Peter quipped.

"A feast is made for laughter, wine makes life merry, and money answers all things." She said, still cheerful. "That's a Bible verse if you were wondering, Captain Middle America." Parker gave her a look, then pulled out his phone and started googling it, making her laugh.

"So what's biting you? Too much pesticide in the air?" She teased. He sighed.

"I talked to some people today, tried to convince them they needed to change things, tried to bargain with a state senator." He said.

"Bargaining…" She said airily. "If you're trying to bargain, you've admitted your own weakness. It's like in relationships when someone gives an ultimatum. It's an admission of being powerless."

"So how do I start fixing things, then?" Parker asked, getting a little irritated. "If bargaining doesn't work, what then?"

"You want to 'fix' this city when you're not even happy with life yet?" Cat asked, amused. "First, fix yourself, and try learning something about people, life. _Then_ make a plan to fix the millions of idiots who made this twisted system."

"I think I could strike some sort of deal, maybe with the mayor, or the governor. What was his name? Andrew Cumonon or something?" Peter said, trying to think, make an idea.

"Bargaining doesn't work." The gorgeous woman said again, still patient, as if all of life was amusement, an interesting sight that she didn't take too seriously. "That's a basic lesson of people."

"I don't think so." Peter refused. The woman shook her head, walked over to a flat part of the roof with a good view, and sat, cross-legged. She patted ground next to her, smiling. Peter almost refused, but then the sight of her persuaded him. He sat.

"When Odysseus finally returned home, he found his old home was overrun, by suitors who were courting his wife." She said. "They had moved into his palace, were trying to woo his wife, were eating his food, drinking his wine, basically living like frat boys on his family's money. Since he was the king of that little kingdom."

"Didn't Odysseus, like, have a ton of affairs while he was away?" Peter tried to remember. Something about a woman who had turned men to pigs, and Odysseus had overcome her, in more ways than one. Cat shrugged.

"Yep. Mainly with goddesses. However, you can't really marry or take home a goddess, so it was pretty different. Anyway, Odysseus had to sneak into his own home, because the suitors would've killed him if he just walked in—they had already tried to murder his son. He made a plan with his son, and ambushed them. Partway into the ambush, they tried to bargain, make peace, offer allegiance and all that stuff." She stopped, staring out at the city, looking at the lights flickering, at the life going on all around. Her silence trailed on, an Peter almost thought she had forgotten what she was going to say. "See, they didn't try to bargain when they had the advantage. They would have killed Odysseus and his son if they could—they only wanted to bargain when they couldn't win."

"So you're saying I only tried bargaining because I can't make anything happen." Peter groaned. Cat nodded.

"That, and seriously? A few cops and a state senator? They can't do anything." She laughed. "You might as well try bargaining with me to change the laws."

"So what's the solution?" He asked. She shrugged.

"To life? Corrupt laws? Horrible bosses?" She asked. "Really depends on what's bugging you.

"Everything." He deadpanned.

"Irish cream then."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes they were walking through the aisles of a rather warm, stylish liquor store. Parker always hated those tiny "bottle shops" that had low ceilings and shelves crammed to the top, but this place was rather well designed. Everything was a soft wood color, like some colonial warehouse, wood floors, and ceiling that was a good 15 feet over his head.<p>

Amazingly, most of the other shoppers didn't really care that someone in red and blue spandex and a woman in a catsuit were casually browsing.

"…and I'm guessing you don't drink much, right?" She asked, pausing to look at a brandy selection.

"Not particularly." He said, a man giving him a weird look as he went by.

"Figures." Cat sighed. She found a bottle, picked it up. "Here we go. It's good stuff, you'll just want to add milk. Irish cream."

"Not quite how I expected to be spending this evening." Parker remarked.

"What, maybe we should fight crime? Or beat up some cops?" Cat said. "You want to change things, that'll take a lot of work and planning… you could use a drink in the meantime."

They joined a checkout line.

"Costume party?" The clerk asked them.

"Isn't that what life is?" Cat grinned.


	4. Despair

"_The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do._"—Jack Sparrow

* * *

><p>Cat was right, drinking <em>did<em> make life happier. They were sitting on a rooftop with two glasses, a little blanket, and a pitcher of milk that Cat kept mixing with the liqueur. Mixed in the right amounts, it tasted like coffee, or maybe licorice.

"So that's the point. End up cynical and a crook, huh?" Peter remarked, finishing another glass. He had his mask half-turned up, as he drank. He was up to half irish cream and half milk. Not bad for someone who didn't drink, ever.

"Is it crooked?" Black Cat asked idly, staring out at the city, tilting the glass in her hand. "Or is it just making a living, being free. If you disagree, you could always go do some free internships… maybe you'll get a good job and get to pay a third of your cash in taxes before the deposit gets to you… someone's gotta fund multi-million dollar studies on the drinking habits of Chinese prostitutes, right? Power corrupts. Government, organizations, church… people lie and cheat and steal and screw over _some _group to keep their grip."

"So, everyone's crooked, so why not join them." Peter summarized. "And now you're saying church is crooked, too?"

"Oh, completely." The girl said, taking another sip. "Women are majority attendance and are more inclined to tithe, because it makes them feel good. So male pastors completely pander to them. Look at Mark Driscoll, for instance. He was a mega church pastor… preached that women become single moms because they can't find decent men, and so men must man up, of course, and marry single moms."

"And your point is…" Peter trailed off.

"Churches claim to teach the Bible, but they completely twist it, to bring people in and make money. They don't respect their own book, because they want to pander. Like politicians, lying through their teeth." Cat said. "So tell me, Spider, why follow the law when the law is the tool of the powerful? Or our society. We have virtual juries ruining peoples careers on twitter and facebook for daring to use a word, or vote for a legitimate political party, or support this bill or that. Democracy is mob rule. That's why this country was never supposed to be one."

"Kinda harsh." Peter said. Cat shrugged.

"Not really." The girl said. "The cruel fact is, most people are not smart enough to make real decisions on laws. How many of them have even read Democracy in America? Plato's Republic? _The Odyssey_? They know nothing about society, about their decisions. About the impact down the road. All they can see is the here and now, and all they know is what they _feel_ about it. Their emotions, their want for 'fairness' can devastate things down the road."

"Why shouldn't laws be more fair?" He said, a little roughly.

"Because the United States was the greatest power the world has ever seen, and it wasn't built on _fair._ It was built on what is wise. What is just. What is necessary." Black Cat said. "Look at any 'oppressed' group, here, and it's about guaranteed that group doesn't have it better anywhere else."

"So that's how you justify being a thief?" He said. "Because you're getting robbed anyway, so might as well steal some back, from the corrupt and the mobs?"

"Society follows one real rule." She said. "You either can do it and get away with it, or you can't. There's no honor here, anymore. Maybe in small groups, in pieces of society. But not overall."

"Because what happens if everyone had your philosophy? Quit paying taxes, obeying laws, all that?" Peter asked, starting to feel the effects of the drink. Half the bottle was gone, though, so it was about time…

"The people with power would have to shape up." Black Cat said, grinning. "It would be painful. But stopping a bad habit always is. It's like getting a fatso to work out. Sure, they would have hunger pangs and hurting muscles, for now. Down the road, they could end up hot and healthy."

"It's depressing." Peter said dully, staring out at the city. He had another cup full of the mix, feeling slightly woozy. It was an interesting feeling. "All of it. That things got this way."

"Indeed it is." Cat said, nodding. "But now we call the arrogant blessed. Certainly evildoers prosper, and even when they put God to the test, they get away with it."

"Shakespeare?" Peter guessed. She smiled, shook her head.

"The point is, learn, and adapt. Pretty much everyone steals, legally or illegally. Look at old people, out there voting to keep high government benefits for senior citizens. Who do you think the money comes from? Working, younger people." She said. "Unless massive immigration covers that, it will be one worker to one social security recipient soon… young, working Peter will be robbed to pay old Paul." He visibly started, and Cat raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Irony." He said, shaking his head. Cat shrugged, looked out over the city. "Thanks for ruining all my naïve hope about life. Well, at least I'm not broke anymore… I have you to thank for that."

"Don't go overboard with it." Cat laughed.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Parker grinned. Cat turned serious.

"You know, there's a parasite that infects mice, takes hold in their brains?" Cat said quietly, her eyes on the city, on the lights of traffic and people going about business. Taxi drivers, party goers, guards on nightshift, thieves… "It rewires neural pathways. The mice become sexually aroused by the smell of cats, because the parasite wants to be eaten and infect cats."

"That's mildly horrific." He commented.

"So, don't bite the bait." Cat said. She stood up, stretched. "There's always horror waiting to be discovered, even in a 'safe' city, Spider. Some groups that have polished, nice images in public… you start digging below the surface, and it's amazing they are allowed to live."

"Every life has value." He countered. He saw a flicker on her face, a tiny flash of anger, before the cool amusement came back.

"Depends on who you ask, doesn't it?" She said. "Go to one group, and people will be campaigning for abortion, while saying the death penalty for murderers is barbaric. Go to the government, and it's all a game of politics. Another group will say differently. Look into the filth close enough, Spider, and you'll thank God for men like the Punisher, and the graveyards they fill. Every life might have a value, but it's a heavy negative in many cases."

"How can you say that?" Peter said, askance.

"Because it's truth." The girl said simply.


	5. Acceptance

"It has been said that the law is like cobwebs. Strong enough to catch the weak, but to weak to catch the strong," The old judge remarked to his class. God only knew how Peter had ended up in some of these political science classes. "You've all heard me blather on for half an hour now. What do you think?" He pointed to one student.

"Completely agree." One teenager said. "Just look at Spider-Man. He was running around, grabbing people. He never got arrested for assault and battery, or false imprisonment, did he?" Several laughs were heard.

"Because I said 'cobwebs' isn't it?" The judge said. He pointed at another student.

"Same, but different." The kid said, a guy with sunburn and an awkward amount of facial hair. "He went after small time crooks. Muggers, robbers. But he never touched the big time corrupt. Corrupt businesses, corrupt politicians. Not even _he_ dared to go after them, in any way shape or form."

"Has anyone else noticed how he hasn't been making as many appearances?" The judge commented. A few people nodded. "The Bugle used to always have front page articles about him, great pictures. Now he's on page 6, once in a while, with a picture of a spec, hell if I know if it's a bird or photoshop…"

"Maybe he got a day job." A girl in the back said, earning more laughs. Peter glanced at his clipboard of notes again, started putting it away.

Aannd, his cell phone started ringing, a high instrumental song from Assassin's Creed II. The judge glanced around the room, then focused on Peter and two other students sitting at the same table. One looked pointedly at Peter, smirking.

"Mr. Parker, you know the class rules about cell phones," the judge said, his lighthearted tone not changing. "If your cell phone rings in class, you have to answer it."

"Seriously?" Peter managed to ask, as other people started joining in, laughing. The old judge nodded, smiling. Peter rolled his eyes, tapped his phone.

"Hey, I'minclassandyouronspeakerphone." Peter managed quickly. "What's up?"

"Hey Peter, we still on for tonight?" A girl said, her voice coming across a bit sexier than usual, but not enough it sounded overdone. He'd have to remember to thank her for that later. "Been looking forward to this all week."

"Yeah, we're on." Peter said, managing to keep a straight face.

"Love you babe, see you then." There was a click, a click, and the call ended.

"Well Mr. Parker, aren't you the achiever?" The judge remarked, a little congratulatory. "And while we're all looking at you anyway, do tell. Are laws only strong enough to catch the weak, and too weak to catch the strong?"

"Yes. Lately, more than ever." He said.

"Could you provide an example to go with that, or is your mind stuck on what that girl has planned?" The judge teased. Peter shook his head, like he was clearing his thoughts.

"Look at congress, or the white house, if you want an example." Peter said. "Nixon covered up a burglary and wiretapping, and all he's known for his being a criminal. Obama covered up arming drug cartels and wiretapped the entire nation."

"Good enough Mr. Parker." The judge said. "Now, for the exam, remember…"

* * *

><p>"What's the point of this? I don't even do this type of thing!" Peter complained into his phone.<p>

"Not yet, but it can come in handy. Believe it." The voice said. "C'mon Spider, you just have to find me and you win."

"There's a lot of people here." Peter sighed. Which made sense, shopping malls were not exactly empty in the evening. Peter was a little amazed any malls were still around, when you considered that everything was probably 50% less online than at the mall, at least.

"Your targets will often be in crowded places." The girl said. "You have to learn to work through it. And get a Bluetooth, I can see you on your phone from here." Peter looked around rapidly, and she laughed again. "So, I got myself a new handgun. A glock 27. Smaller than I like, but it packs a punch and is highly concealable. Professional shooters actually do better with the ultra compact glocks over the full size... I checked."

"A glock? What, off the black market?" Peter jived, still combing the crowds, trying to move with the cover of other people. "That's not, my, _illegal_, is it?"

"It's as legal as what you do everyday." The teasing voice said. "Do you even know if New York City has citizen's arrest? If so, is it for felonies alone, or violent felonies…? And does the law require you to file a report to the officer, as the person who made the arrest?" Peter groaned, rubbed his forehead. "Exactly." The voice purred. "If you don't even bother learning that, how can you blame a girl for wanting protection? Not all of us can lift a car."

"You have to avoid moving suddenly and jerkily." Cat admonished. "It marks you. Makes you stand out. Didn't you ever play Assassin's Creed?"

"i was too busy fighting real assassins," Peter retorted, his eyes scanning for the shock of hair, for the familiar face. "What do videogames have to do with this?"

"Because it was a good game, and taught stalking pretty well." Felicia laughed into his ear. "Movement catches the human eye faster than anything else. Why do you think you haven't found me yet? I walked by you twenty seconds ago. I moved with the crowd."

"Why can't you just meet me at the food court like a normal girl?" Peter sighed. The phone next to his cheek was getting irritating,

"What would be the fun of that?" A voice said behind him. He turned to face the most gorgeous girl he had seen that day. She didn't have a mask on this time, which only made her face that more perfect as he kissed her. "You get a passing grade, spider." She said, sounding rather pleased. "But only because this is lesson one."

"Do I get a secret decoder ring when I graduate, or is it a lockpick set?" Peter teased, a hand on her back, feeling her warm and soft and firm in all the right places.

"Maybe I'll get you one of those rings with laser built in." She said in mock seriousness. "More your level, lock picks need skill."

She was dressed casually. Stylish boots, blue jeans and a black shirt. "So how's things been, spider?" He shrugged, and the two started meandering towards the food court.

"I finished my move, even ordered some nice furniture." He said. "Nice to have money for rent, courtesy of a lot of drug dealers."

"That's what happens when you work smarter." Cat said. She tilted her head towards one food stand, and Peter followed her, as she ordered some salad-chicken wrap. Peter gave her a look. "What? You think I got this body eating burgers and fries everyday?"

"Evidently not," Peter said, leaning over and kissing her on the neck.

"At least you're in a good mood," She said, amused. "You seemed depressed, a few days ago."

"I was still brooding over how corrupt and messed up the world is." He said offhandedly. "Today I'm more willing to deal with it. Accept it."

"Life is what it always has been." Felicia said mildly, paying the cashier and getting her food. "Times get rough, people act the same way as they always do. You know Europe is facing a fertility crisis? Their birthrates are plummeting like crazy, so governments are trying to offer cash incentives to have kids. Poor immigrants are out producing the locals. Good if you want France to become Liberia or something. Pretty bad if you think France is a better place to live than Liberia or Chad or Kenya."

"And...?" Peter asked, getting an order of cajun from another vendor.

"Ancient Rome had the same problems." Felicia said, matter of factly. "Upper class families weren't even having three kids. And this was the age before birth control. Legislation didn't help."

"So we're Rome, getting murderous and close to collapse?" Peter questioned, as they found a table amid the droves of families, teenagers, and groups of girls.

"Pretty much, so watch your back." Felicia said cheerily, taking a sip of water. "It's gonna get harder from here, and we'll have to get smarter." Peter leaned back a little, glanced around again, and let his gaze settle on her. She gave it a few moments, then raised an eyebrow when he didn't look away.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." She said, flashing a model-worthy grin. He laughed.

"It's so weird seeing you like this." He teased. "I keep expecting something to happen."

"Oh, believe me, things are gonna happen, Spider." She said slyly. "Stick with me, and things won't ever be dull again."

"That, I'm counting on."


End file.
